Words of Widsom
by rosabelle317
Summary: Sharon's not so bad with breakup advice, actually. [Sharon and all her kids.]
1. Emily

**Notes: **Three weeks ago, I thought this would be a short little story I could write in one day inspired by Rusty's line about not needing breakup advice from Sharon. Yeah. So there's three chapters, one per child, and the other two are just about done so there won't be much of a wait between updates. If you miss the iPod reference, this one takes place in early 2002.**  
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**Words of Wisdom**

**Part I: Emily**

There were three door slams. The first, the metallic crash of the security door. The second, the thud of the heavy front door that rattled the door knocker and the windows on each side. The third, loud, a bedroom door slammed with great force.

Sharon raised her eyebrows at the first, stood up at the second, and was too slow to stop the third. Her bedroom was at the far end of the house, looking out over the backyard. Emily and Ricky had the two bedrooms near the front of the house... which also meant that they had a shorter distance to cross to reach their rooms, and by the time Sharon reached the hallway, the door had long since been shut and locked.

"Emily?"

"Go away." The words were teary and half-wailed.

"Open the door, please."

Silence.

Sharon silently counted to ten and then repeated the request. Sternly this time.

"Why should I?"

She could intimidate her superior officers with a twitch of her eyebrows, but would that make her children take her seriously?

"Because those are the terms of our agreement, and I know you want to keep your allowance."

"I don't _care._"

"And your car."

From inside the room, Sharon heard a half-muffled scream of frustration, but footsteps stomped towards the door. When it was wrenched open a moment later, Emily's face was blotchy with tears. She managed an impressive glare all the same. "Don't even _think_ about coming in."

After what felt like a thousand fights where her normally quiet, thoughtful girl had become an angry, confusing creature and Sharon had lost her patience more times than she was proud of, they'd come to an agreement where Emily wouldn't lock herself in her room if Sharon would talk to her from the doorway, and that Emily wouldn't shout if Sharon kept "that enunciating thing you do when you're mad" to a minimum.

Sharon leaned back against the door frame, folding her arms across her chest. "I won't."

Emily gave her an untrusting stare and stomped back to the bed, where she settled herself with a huff.

She was still dressed in her leotard. She wore a pair of pink sweatpants over it, a pair that she must've changed into after coming home. They weren't fit to be worn out of the house anymore, threadbare as they were, but she stubbornly refused to part with them. It didn't help that they'd been bought more than one growth spurt ago, when Emily had been more a girl than a young woman, small enough that on a bad day she would've let her mother soothe her with a hug and a kiss.

Sharon tried not to sigh at the thought of the days when she could hold them in her lap and comfort them. "So what's wrong?"

Silently, Emily reached up, beginning to work bobby pins and elastic ties out of her hair.

"Did something happen in class today?"

"No." Emily gave her a sidelong glance, the sort she used when trying to gauge Sharon's patience without letting on what she was doing, and shrugged. "Nothing _happened_ in class."

The elastic holding her bun in place caught on her hair when Emily tried to tug it loose. She winced, then made a quiet growl of frustration.

"Would you like some help?"

Another glare, then Emily lowered her chin in a nod and scooted forward in bed enough to make room for Sharon to sit behind her. Sharon rubbed Emily's shoulders as she settled herself on the bed, trying not to frown at the tension she felt gathered there.

Carefully, she untangled the elastic, working it free of Emily's hair as gently as possible, then, when Emily didn't immediately pull away, began removing the rest of the pins from her daughter's hair.

"It's Danny."

From the intonation, Sharon inferred that this was about Danny the dancer, surprisingly graceful for someone so lanky, the one she'd been on the outs with recently, and not Dani the cellist, whom Emily had been friends with since kindergarten and who'd decided back in seventh grade that she and Emily were going to Julliard together.

"Ah." Sharon dropped a pin into the pile growing beside her thigh. "I haven't heard that name in awhile."

Emily shrugged. "'cause I haven't said it in awhile."

The _duh_ was implied.

"Did the two of you have a fight?"

"We didn't talk." Emily shrugged. "I saw him with Jason durning break. They were totally making out, so... he probably didn't see me, anyway."

"At the school?"

"Well... yeah. Break's not really long enough for them to go anywhere else. And it's just _kissing_, Mom. It's totally not a big deal."

"It's a little more than _just_ kissing, isn't it?"

"_Mom_."

The conversation was beginning to go sideways.

"So is that what you're upset about? Seeing him with Jason?"

"What?" Emily twisted as far around as she could with Sharon's hands still in her hair. "No, I don't care about that. They seemed happy. I'm happy for him."

"Then?"

"Then?" Emily repeated.

Sharon pulled the last clip out of Emily's hair, and moved the small pile of bobby pins and hair elastics to the nightstand. "I'm not sure what the problem is, honey."

"He didn't tell me he was dating anyone." Emily's shoulders suddenly quivered. "He never tells me _anything_ anymore. He was my best friend, and now he won't even _talk_ to me unless he has to in class and I don't know _why_."

Sharon smoothed the ends of Emily's hair flat against her shoulders. "Where's your brush?"

"Nightstand."

It was in the drawer, nestled amongst empty gum wrapper, a pot of dried up lip gloss, and that new iPod player that had been the _only_ thing either child had wanted last Christmas. Sharon, who didn't routinely spend eight hundred dollars on her children's toys, had hesitated. But... she could afford it, and they were such good kids, both of them, and both teenagers now. Old enough to be responsible for their own things.

She was pleased to see that there were only minor scuffs on the case, and the iPod itself looked as good as new.

Sharon settled back, brush in hand.

"Start from the bottom."

She said it as though Sharon hadn't brushed her hair for her the first six years of her life. Sharon prodded Emily between the shoulder blades with the brush handle, and was rewarded with a quiet laugh.

"It's always hard, you know," she said, beginning to brush a section of Emily's hair. "When your relationship with someone important to you changes."

"I just... I thought we could still be friends," Emily said. "That's what I wanted. That's what he said he wanted."

"Give it some time."

"It's been, like, a month. And a half."

"And it feels like forever?"

"Mom." Emily started to pull away.

"I'm not making fun of you, honey. That's a long time to be without your best friend."

"Oh."

"Have you talked to him since you broke up?" Sharon asked, beginning to brush again. "Does he know how you're feeling?"

"No."

"Have you thought about it?"

"I don't think that would help."

"And why do you say that?"

"We're still in class together," Emily said. "I—like, I see him all the time. If he wanted to talk to me, he's had plenty of chances."

"Remind me," Sharon said. "Whose idea was it to break up?"

"Well... mine." Emily hesitated. "Because I could tell he wasn't really into me. But we were only together for, like, a month. It's not like I was in love with him. I—I mean, I _love_ him, but... not like that." She tilted her head back to let Sharon reach better. "I think I would've broken up with him anyway, even if he wasn't gay."

Sharon said nothing, and kept brushing.

"I don't care that he's gay, Mom," Emily said, suddenly sounding unsure. "He has to know that, right?"

"I think..." Sharon set the brush down. "I think that it's hard to know that the world isn't going to be kind to you, and that it's easy to forget that there are people who care about you."

"So you think I should talk to Danny."

"I do."

"You could be wrong," Emily said. "You're not _always_ right."

"That's what I have you for," she said wryly. "To let me know when I'm wrong."

All the time, apparently.

"But, Mom." Emily's shoulders were tense again. "What if it's too weird for him?"

"Then you'll have to respect that," Sharon told her. "But at least you'll both know how you feel."

"What do you know, anyway?" Emily said, without heat. "Grandma and Grandpa never let you date."

"They didn't," Sharon agreed, a smile half-forming as an old memory unearthed itself. "But they _did_ let me go to prom."

"Right," Emily said. "Grandma showed me pictures. You're wearing this dress with weird ruffles and standing next to this guy with total seventies hair."

"Well... it _was_ the seventies. We were very fashionable." Sharon tried not to sound too amused. If Emily thought those were bad, she ought to ask her grandmother to see her aunt's prom pictures. _Those_ had been taken in the eighties. "That guy you're talking about was a friend of mine. Ted. We went together with some other friends. We all had dinner beforehand at this nice German restaurant—"

"Mom."

"We had a good time," Sharon said, still smiling. "And at the end of the night, before he brought me home, we kissed."

"Gross."

It had been, actually. Sharon cleared her throat, and gave Emily's hair a few final brushes. They definitely didn't need to discuss _that._

"We were both a little caught up in the moment," she said. "And afterwards, we were both too embarrassed to talk to each other. It took us almost until graduation day to sort out that neither of us wanted to be more than friends."

What had followed was almost an entire month of averting their eyes should they pass each other in the halls, and frozen, uncomfortable smiles when they accidentally made eye contact. It made her laugh, to look back on that time now that she was forty. (Ish.) At the time, though, it had felt a little agonizing.

Sharon sorted through her memory, trying to remember what had happened to Ted afterwards. She'd kept track of her friends for awhile, but... well, her life had been a mess for awhile there and even now that she had it sorted out, things were still hectic more often than not. There were work emergencies and child crises and, when she was lucky, the occasional night out with a friend. Between everything, she'd fallen out of touch with a lot of people.

Princeton, she thought. Ted had gone to Princeton. No, or... Yale? She knew that he'd stayed on the East Coast, and last she'd heard from anyone, he was married with two daughters. Maybe she'd see him at the twenty-fifth reunion. It would be nice, to catch up with him. With everyone.

Sharon shook herself free of her reminiscing. "Just think about it."

"Okay," Emily said. "Fine. I will."

She said it in that way teenagers did, wrapped in exasperation and reluctance, because heaven forbid that she admit her mother might not be _completely_ wrong about everything.

"Good." She squeezed Emily's shoulder. "If you slam any more doors while you're thinking, you're grounded."

"Just because you're a captain now doesn't mean you can boss me around all the time, you know." But Emily turned around, scooting closer until she could wrap her arms around Sharon's waist. She squeezed hard, the sort of hug where she held on for all she was worth, and when Sharon brought her arms up around her in return, Emily wriggled a little closer and tucked her face against the side of Sharon's neck.

Sharon smiled and kissed the side of her head. They'd see about that.


	2. Ricky

**Notes: **And here's Ricky's chapter. This one takes place in 2005.

**Words of Wisdom**

**Part II: Ricky**

The wine was cold and crisp on her tongue, light and immediately soothing. Sharon took another sip, then set the glass on her nightstand, centered carefully on a coaster. Beside it, her stereo was playing, soft enough that she could just hear it. She closed her eyes, listening for a moment. The CD case was too far away for her to reach, but she thought it was Bach. One of the violin concertos.

When she felt her eyelids grow heavy, Sharon shook herself and opened her eyes. She should've known better than to read these notes in bed, but sitting at her desk, her neck had started to ache. She reached for the file that had slipped off her of lap. Soon, she promised herself. She was just going to re-read Sergeant Elliot's notes on the absolute disaster that had unfolded in Priority Homicide earlier, and then she was going to bed.

"Mom? Hey, Mom? You in there?"

The words were accompanied by a loud rap at the door.

"You can come in." Sharon glanced up when the door opened.

"Oh," Ricky said, pausing in the doorway. "Are you working?"

"I'm..." Sharon glanced at her watch. A quarter to eleven, and she was several hours into her reporting cycle. If this was going to be another one of those moments where he told her he'd had two weeks to buy something for a school project and failed to do so, she was going to kill him. "It's all right. What do you need?"

"Did Dad move again?"

Sharon closed the file.

"Not that I'm aware of," she said. "Why? Is his phone disconnected again?"

"The landline is," he said. "His cell phone isn't, but he didn't answer when I called."

"I'm sorry, honey," she said. She set the file on her nightstand, balanced on top of her stereo. At least she was awake now. "Are you missing him?"

"There was something I wanted to ask him."

"Hey," she said, and shifted over to make room for him beside her. She patted the bed. "Come here for a minute."

It was just the two of them now, with Emily away in New York. She'd been gone almost two months, and there were still some days when Sharon wasn't sure that she'd ever get used to not setting three places at the table every day. But Emily was having the time of her life, and Sharon heard from her almost every day. If she didn't call, then she texted. She was texting Ricky too. The cell phone bill had skyrocketed the first month. Once she'd recovered from the shock, Sharon had quietly switched them all to unlimited texting and decided she wasn't going to charge them the overage this time. Her kids liked each other enough to keep in touch. She wasn't going to discourage that.

Ricky wouldn't come right out and _say_ it, but he missed his sister. In Emily's absence, Sharon found him less reluctant to spend time with her, and once he'd started talking to her, she could hardly believe that this was her youngest child, her baby, and that he'd grown into someone so smart and so talented. And so _tall_.

She gave his leg an affectionate pat when he came and sat on the edge of the mattress. Like her, he was dressed for bed. The hem of his pajama pants fell somewhere near the middle of his calves.

She'd bought him those pajamas at the beginning of the school year.

Sharon shook her head.

"Everything all right?" she asked, remembering why he was there.

"I just need to talk to Dad," he said. "I need to ask him something."

"Okay," she said slowly. "How long ago did you call him?"

"When I got home from school," he said. "And again little while ago."

Damn Jack. Damn him and damn the way that there was seemingly no end to the number of times and ways in which he could disappoint his children.

The anger took her suddenly and by surprise, coiling into a tight knot in her throat.

Sharon breathed out, silently counting to ten.

"Would you like me to call him for you?" God knew where she would even start looking for Jack this time. He'd been apartment hopping for years now, and just when she thought she knew where to find him, he vanished without warning only to reappear somewhere else, months later. She doubted he'd answer the phone for her, either, but for her son—for Jack's son, not that he acted like that mattered for anything, lately, she would try.

Jack was always talking about moving permanently to Las Vegas. Maybe he'd actually done it this time.

"No," Ricky said. "Never mind. It's okay."

"What was it that you needed to ask him?" she said. "Maybe I know the answer."

"Uh..." Ricky grew suddenly quiet and uncomfortable, and he shied away from the hand she had rubbing his shoulder. "It's... it's a guy thing."

"Oh," she said, folding her hands in her lap instead. "And you need advice from another guy, is that it?"

"Yeah."

"Well—" Sharon took another look at her watch. "It's a little late to be calling either of your grandfathers right now, but if it can wait until tomorrow after school I'm sure they'd be happy to help you. Or your uncle."

"Which uncle?"

"You've got a few to choose from."

Ricky made a face.

"You really want it to be your dad," she said quietly. "I know."

"No," he said. "Well—yeah, but... it's just... I don't think those are good ideas."

"A teacher, maybe?" she suggested.

"That'd be worse," he said. "It's about Alyssa."

Sharon paused.

Ricky ran his fingers through his hair.

"Oh," she said, a second too late to sound unaffected. "Honey... You _know _that I wish your father was around for you more often... but are you sure that he's really the best person to ask when you're having a problem with your girlfriend?"

She tried not to show her alarm at the thought of what advice Jack might give... or what Ricky might want to ask him. There were too many potential disasters there.

"I don't really _need_ advice," he said. "I know what I'm gonna do."

"Oh," she said again. "You just wanted to tell him about it?"

Sharon tried not to sigh when he nodded. He didn't want advice from his father. He wanted to know that his father cared enough to _give_ advice.

She'd called Jack, back in the spring, to ask if he wanted to come to Emily's ballet recital. The last one before she went off to college. That he'd said yes hadn't been the surprise; Jack wanted to do plenty of things. What she hadn't expected was for him to actually show up and then stick around for most of the summer to spend some time with the kids. He'd even bought Emily some furnishings for her dorm room, but he'd apparently since decided that he had now fulfilled his parenting quota until Christmas.

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

They both knew it wasn't.

"Hey, Mom?"

She hummed.

"When Dad left, did he break up with you? Or did you break up with him?"

Sharon hesitated."You could say we broke up with each other." She'd been the one to file the separation papers. Jack had been the one to disappear with all of their savings. "Why? Are you and Alyssa having problems?"

"I still like her," he said. "But only when I'm not around her."

"You've been together... three months?" she said, and he nodded. "That's a long time when you're fifteen."

The only other relationship that she knew of had lasted a grand total of two weeks.

"Did the two of you have a fight?" she asked him.

"A lot of fights," he said. "Really stupid fights."

"That sounds tough." As carefully as she could, she asked, "Did something happen to cause these fights?"

"I don't think so," he said. "Just, all of a sudden, everything I say—and everything _she_ says..."

Sharon nodded, waiting for him to finish.

"I want to break up with her," he said, but his voice rose on the last word as if in question.

"It can be a hard decision to commit to," she said.

"Not really." Ricky ran his hands through his hair another time. "I definitely want to break up with her. Only... she's got a test tomorrow and her birthday's this weekend."

"Oh," Sharon said, understanding. "And you're not sure if you should wait or not?"

"Yeah," he said. "It seems kind of mean."

"Does it?"

Ricky frowned at her. "You don't think so?"

"I think..." Sharon hesitated. "I think you have a couple of options here."

"Tomorrow's Wednesday," he said. "I can't break up with her in the morning, because she her math test after lunch... but if I do it Thursday, her birthday's on Friday."

Sharon nodded, and motioned for him to keep talking.

"I could wait until after the weekend," he said. "Sunday night or something."

Sharon rubbed her forehead, her eyes straying back to her nightstand. She'd changed her mind. The interview notes could wait until the morning. After this, she was finishing her wine and going to bed.

"You're doing the thing," Ricky said, sounding resigned now. "You think I'm wrong."

She tried to disguise the urge to laugh by clearing her throat. He was right about that, at least, but she didn't want to hurt his feelings by smiling now.

"I know you mean well," she said, "but I'm not sure what you're thinking of is the best idea."

"But I'm trying to be nice."

"I know you are," she said. "Let's just think about this, all right? What day is her party? Saturday?"

He nodded.

"How much fun do you think you'd have, if you went to her party feeling like this?"

"Not... very much."

"And do you think she might notice you weren't having much fun?"

There was a long pause, and then Ricky sighed. "Probably," he admitted.

Sharon pressed on. "And how much fun do you think _she_ would have, knowing that?"

"You think I should do it sooner, then." He gave her a glum look.

"I do." She touched his shoulder. "The longer you wait, the worse it will be. In your case, the sooner you do it, more time she'll have to feel better before her birthday."

"I don't want to _right_ before her test."

"Well... it can probably wait until after school," she said. "Any longer than that, you're just avoiding it because you know it'll be uncomfortable."

She took his silence as confirmation.

"What am I supposed to tell her?"

"You'll have to figure that out for yourself," she said. "Be honest, but don't be meaner than you have to be. Understand?"

He nodded.

"It could be," she added, "that she might want to break up with you too."

Ricky gave her a blank look.

"If you've been arguing a lot, the chances are good that she's not happy, either," she said. "Don't you think?"

"I didn't think of that," he said, after a long pause.

"Maybe you should," she suggested gently, when his face retained the expression of someone who had just made a profound discovery. "Does that make it easier?"

"Yeah."

Speaking slowly, she said, "You might find that when you're with someone and you're making each other unhappy, it's actually a relief to break up, once you get it over with."

She'd found it so. The first few months had been hard, when she'd found herself alone with two small children, no money, and a terrifying amount of debt. After that, as things had slowly gotten easier, she had realized that it was easier, not having Jack around. He'd been more of a hindrance than a help, the last year and a half before the separation, and their marriage had deteriorated into something she could now admit was unhealthy.

Ricky's face brightened a little. "I guess."

"There's only one way to find out," she said. "Let me know how it goes."

His hair was standing on end now from the number of times he'd played with it.

Sharon smiled faintly, and gave his shoulder another pat. "Come here," she said, and pulled him into a tight hug.


	3. Rusty

**Notes: **And it's done! This one takes place sometime next fall, after Rusty's started college. Thank you for all of your comments. :)

**Words of Wisdom**

**Part III: Rusty**

Sharon considered the inside of her refrigerator. There was a cooked chicken breast wrapped in foil on one shelf. Sitting beside it was a half-empty jar of almond butter. There were also two bottles of wine and some assorted condiments, including three nearly-empty bottles of ketchup that she assumed were Rusty's fault. Why they were still occupying an entire shelf in her refrigerator when Rusty no longer lived with her was a question she evaded by turning her attention to the freezer.

She fared a little better there. Two pizza crusts, half a dozen kinds of frozen vegetables, some pork chops she wasn't in the mood to thaw tonight, a pint of strawberry ice cream, and some prepackaged quiches and burritos that she kept for the days when she was too exhausted to cook but not in the mood for takeout.

There was always oatmeal.

She needed to go grocery shopping.

That had been her plan for the day, but she'd solved a two related homicides the day before and then decided she'd rather sleep in until nine and meet Andrea Hobbs for brunch. She supposed she _could_ have gone later in the day, but grocery shopping on a Saturday afternoon always took twice as long as it should. Tomorrow morning would do just fine.

She'd just decided to steam some of the vegetables to eat with the chicken when she heard a key unlock the front door. Sharon smiled to herself and shut the freezer door.

"Rusty?"

"It's me." He appeared in the kitchen a moment later, backpack slung from one shoulder and his laptop hugged to his chest. "Hey."

"Hey." She touched his shoulder when he came to stand beside her. "What are you doing here? I thought you had a study group."

"Not tonight. I need to download something," he said. "And the internet is better here. I tried it from school and it said it'd take forty-seven hours."

She slid her arm all the way around him and hugged him against her side. "What were you downloading that was going to take forty-seven hours?"

"Like, nothing _illegal_, Sharon." But for all the exasperation in his voice, he unwound one arm from around his computer and wrapped it around her instead.

She hoped not. She hadn't gone through all the trouble of adopting him just so that he could get himself arrested for internet piracy.

Rusty sighed. "I'm the only person I know who hasn't seen _Ant-Man_ yet," he said. "So I bought it. Now I need to download it."

"Go on." Her arm was still around him. She tugged on his shoulder and turned him in the direction of the living room, and then gave him a gentle push towards it. "Are you hungry? I was just about to make dinner."

"Uh..." She heard him setting his things down near the coffee table. "What are you making?"

"Get your download going and help me decide." There wasn't enough chicken for both of them.

"You want to watch with me?"

"I would," she said, and shook her head. Rusty's enjoyment of anything could generally not be trusted to be an endorsement of its quality.

When Rusty joined her in the kitchen, he opened the refrigerator and promptly informed her that she needed to go grocery shopping.

"Thank you," she said. "I hadn't noticed."

"Do you want to go? We could go."

"Right now? No." Sharon gave him a sideways look. He sounded a little too eager to spend a Saturday night grocery shopping with his mother. "Are you getting enough to eat at school?"

"Yeah?" He shrugged. "The food kinda sucks, but it's all right."

Right. Whatever that meant. At any rate, she was glad she'd bought him the mini fridge and the microwave for his dorm.

"All right," she said, and reached for the drawer where she stored the delivery menus. "What are you in the mood for? Pizza?"

"Really?"

She tried not to laugh at the look he gave her. "I've had a very long week, and I know you've been working hard too."

His smile faded.

She took the other menus and turned just enough that she could still see his face as she returned them to the drawer.

"I—" Rusty looked away. "Can we get extra cheese?"

"That's fine." Sharon touched his shoulder gently on her way out of the kitchen.

She went to call in their order. One large pizza, extra cheese, everything on it. When she turned around again, Rusty had set two plates at the table and was standing in the kitchen pouring each of them a glass of water.

"Normal people don't drink tea with pizza."

She tried not to smile too much as she took the glass he offered her.

"So did you solve your murders?"

"We did," she said as she took her usual seat. "Did you take your psychology test?"

"Yeah." He paused. "I—I think I did all right. I ran out of time on the last question, but I think I wrote down enough and the rest of it was okay, I guess. We find out next week. So who did it?"

"The brother and his girlfriend were in it together." Two young men had started off pulling small robberies in their neighborhood, escalated to murder when one of the homes had not been as unoccupied as they'd assumed, and then finally ended with one brother wanting to come forward and being killed by the other to keep him from doing so.

"Did they get a deal?"

"A manslaughter plea for the girlfriend in exchange for her testimony." Sharon shook her head. "It's so easy to make one bad, one _stupid_ decision and have it escalate to something that ruins your life _and_ someone else's."

"Sharon." Rusty gave her an exasperated look. "I would _tell_ you if someone wanted me to murder their brother."

She hummed, feeling her mood lift a little.

"But it doesn't have to be just murder, though, right?" he said. "Bad decisions?"

Sharon stared at him.

Rusty cringed.

"No," she said, and gave him a long look. "There are other bad decisions in the world besides murder."

"Like... maybe something smaller?" he said. "Way smaller. Something that doesn't seem like that big of a deal?"

Sharon sat back, crossing her arms and keeping her face as neutral as she could manage. "Yes."

Rusty looked away. "It's kind of a long story."

"It'll be a long wait for pizza."

Rusty slowly spun his plate around in a circle. "That study group," he said. "It started off as a group, and then after awhile it was just me and this other guy. Alex. And... and—" He stared down at his plate, his expression intensely uncomfortable. "And maybe we didn't always study."

"Ah," she said quietly.

"We—" Rusty hesitated. "We didn't _do_ anything. Not like that. We mostly just talked. But I... "

"Okay," she said, as gently as she could. "That's okay. So what happened?"

"He wanted me to—just, don't freak out okay?"

Uneasiness slowly filled the pit of her stomach. Narrowing her eyes, Sharon nodded.

"He wanted me to do something, I said no, and then he turned out to be kind of an asshole." Rusty glanced at her. "Not like _that_, Sharon. He didn't _do_ anything to me."

Slowly, she unclenched her fingers. "What happened?"

"That test," he said. "I guess the only studying he did was with me, or something. And like I said, we didn't really study."

It had been awhile, but Sharon remembered the danger of studying with someone one was attracted to.

"So he asked if he could, you know, look at some of my answers. Not the whole thing, but like, just to know where to start."

Sharon frowned. "He wanted you to help him cheat?"

It made her angrier than she would've expected, hearing that. Rusty had worked so, so hard to get to college and even then, it had been a group effort to convince him that he was deserving of the opportunity. That someone would try to convince him to jeopardize that...

Sharon rubbed her temples.

"Right?" Rusty rolled his eyes. "I said no, obviously. Well, actually—" He smiled suddenly, looking pleased with himself. "I said yes—"

"_Rusty_—"

"And then right before the tests got handed out, I moved two seats over. He totally failed."

Sharon smiled before she could help it. "Did you tell your professor?"

"I'm not a snitch, Sharon." He rushed on before she had chance to respond. "He's dropping the class now, anyway. It's not a big deal."

"Isn't it?"

Rusty looked down and away. "I don't _want_ it to be a big deal."

"But?"

"But I'm mad about it," he said. "And no one else thinks that I should've let him cheat, really, but they don't think it's really a big deal either."

"And you?" she prompted.

"I..." Rusty looked away again. "I really liked him, Sharon. And I—I just... I was thinking, that—that maybe we would..."

"If he's not who you thought he was, it's better to know now," she said quietly.

Rusty glanced at her.

She knew her voice changed, sometimes, when she was reminded of Jack. When she wasn't careful, when she didn't pay enough attention to catch it before she spoke, sometimes something wry and bitter slipped out before she knew it.

That was more than she'd meant to tell him.

He didn't say anything, but after three years, she knew him well enough to see that he'd picked up on it.

Sharon cleared her throat.

"Better no relationship than a bad one," she told him, in her normal voice. "Trust me."

"I know."

And he did.

She wished that he could know without knowing.

"I feel like..." Rusty looked away. "Like I should've seen it coming somehow."

"It's unpleasant, I know," she said.

He was quiet for a long time. "Why do I feel so bad?"

"Because he disappointed you." This time, she let the tone come through deliberately. Rusty gave her an uncertain look. Sharon twined her fingers together, sliding the tip of one thumb against the nail of the other.

Few people understood why she hadn't just divorced Jack from the get go. That was fine. They didn't need to understand; it was a private matter and Sharon preferred those kept private. She'd had her reasons, they'd made sense to her, and even now that she was moving on with someone else, she didn't regret not divorcing him sooner.

That didn't make the more than thirty years of constant disappointment hurt any less.

"Maybe I disappointed me," Rusty said. Sharon opened her mouth, then closed it and let him finish. He was staring hard at his plate, and didn't notice. "I know when people want something from me, Sharon. I—I should've..."

"You met this boy at the beginning of the semester?" she asked, and he nodded.

"Okay," he said, before she could. "I guess he probably wasn't planning to cheat on the very first day."

"It's unlikely."

"He texted me earlier," Rusty said. "He says he's sorry. He wants to talk."

"And what do _you _want?"

Rusty shrugged. "I haven't decided yet. It's—it's probably like what you were saying, earlier. How you don't realize one dumb thing can turn into something that ruins your life."

She nodded.

"I don't know what to tell him."

"I can't tell you whether or not to forgive him," Sharon said. "That's up to you."

"I—I know." He still looked disappointed, like he'd been hoping her to bestow upon him some magical solution.

"I've never met him," she said. "I don't know if he made one bad decision this week, or if this is something he does regularly. Either way..." She gave him a long stare. "You have worked so hard to get to college, and I would hate to see you surrounded by people who would ask you to risk that."

His shoulders were tense and he was beginning to fidget in his seat, two sure signs that he'd reached the end of the conversation.

Sharon glanced at her wrist, then at the door. No sign of the pizza.

"How about we get started?" she said, gesturing towards where he'd set his laptop on the coffee table. "We can take a break from _Ape-Man_ when the pizza gets here."

"It's not—" Rusty caught himself, narrowing his eyes at her suspiciously. "You're not _funny_, Sharon."

She pressed her lips together to hide her amusement and stood, the back of her hand sliding against his cheek as she moved past him. He'd be all right.

"But—" Rusty caught the edge of her sleeve. She turned back to find him watching her with a reluctant smile. "Thanks."

She smiled at him in answer. "You're welcome."


End file.
